To Cynthia On Expressions Of Love Poem by Francis Kynaston

Must I beleeve (sweet Cynthia) that the flame
Hath light, and heat had I ne're felt the same?
Must I beleeve the cold and hardest flint,
Had I ne're known't had fiery sparckles in't?
Must I beleeve the Load-stone e're did drawe
The steele, when such a thing I never saw?
Must I turne Papist by implicit faith,
To beleeve that, which thou, or woman saith?
Thou sayest thou lov'st me, but thou dost not show
Any, the smallest signe that it is so:
All emanations of thy soule thou keep'st
Retir'd within thy brest, as when thou sleep'st
True love is not a meere intelligence
That's Metaphysicall, for every sence
Must see and judge of it; I must avow,
That sencelesse things are kinder farre then thou:
Thou neither wilt embrace, nor kisse; thy hand
(Unlesse I kisse it) doth each touch withstand:
Learne therefore of the flame not to professe
Thou lov'st, unlesse thou love in act expresse:
Learne of the flint which beeing once calcin'd,
Becomes a white soft Cement, that will binde:
Learne of the Load-stone, let it teach thy heart
Not onely to draw lovers, but impart
Thy favours to them, let thy servants feele
Thy love, who are more sencible then steele.